


darling, play your violin (we will manage somehow)

by doriangay



Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Eating Disorders, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Pining, Religious Conflict, Tenderness, bed sharing, gonna avoid triggering content but any possible triggers will be in chapter descriptions, mitski - Freeform, no knowledge of mitski songs needed! the snippets are mostly based on vibes lol, yeah. basically just tenderness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-17
Updated: 2019-06-28
Packaged: 2020-05-13 19:59:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19258150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doriangay/pseuds/doriangay
Summary: [for if i am not yours, what am i?]'Dennis never remembered the names of the women he slept with, but was vividly aware of everyone Mac brought home; they stuck in his head, like the songs he and Charlie had made up back in high school.'





	1. when, when, when?

**Author's Note:**

> i loved writing this sm, each chapter will include a couple of scenes, and each one is based on a mitski song - you can find the full chronological playlist for the fic on my tumblr, macdenniskiss  
> [no trigger warnings for this chapter]  
> this chapter's song is townie !
> 
> trigger warnings:  
> knife violence

Dennis was stood outside trying to block out the rest of the world. He held a cigarette daintily between his fingers and breathed out a plume of smoke - the entire universe felt heavy on his shoulders, weighing him down with the knowledge that he was nearing the end of a chapter in life. Sighing, he threw the cigarette aside and looked up at the sky. He was in the very worst of moods.

He’d never really liked house parties; the combination of loud music, sweaty bodies and idiots who couldn’t hold their beer was too much for him, and by the end of the night he was always on the verge of snapping. Tonight, he’d decided to sit in his usual spot on Dooley’s trampoline. He was one of the few people who had dared to venture out into the cold garden, and was already regretting it - his entire body was freezing up, and his nose was growing numb. He sniffed and lit another cigarette, closing his eyes as he inhaled, a pleasant mix of nicotine and beer rushing through his veins - he felt as though he was floating away, the distant music from the party getting quieter and quieter as he allowed himself to drift up towards the stars.

 

“Dude, do you want to freeze to death?”

Opening his eyes, Dennis saw Mac stood directly above him; his brow was furrowed into a small frown and he was clutching a six pack of beer to his chest. 

Dennis sat up and folded in on himself, pulling his knees to his chest, “yes.”

Mac rolled his eyes and sat down next to him, almost toppling over as the trampoline sagged beneath their weight. Without a word, he took off his jacket and draped it over Dennis’ shoulders. Dennis didn’t look at him, but nodded a quick thank you before holding out his hand; Mac passed him a beer, and Dennis smiled as the cold can leeched any warmth he’d had left in his fingertips.

“Where’s Charlie?” He asked, taking a swig of beer, “I thought the two of you were sticking together tonight?” A barely concealed jealousy bubbled beneath his words, and he turned away from Mac, stretching out his legs.

“He’s off bothering that girl he likes, you know, the one with the dark hair.”

“Oh.”

Mac hesitated for a moment before quietly saying, “I thought you were gonna be with Maureen tonight, bro.”

A small pit formed in Dennis’ stomach. He’d been dating Maureen for almost six months now, officially making this the longest relationship of his life; but the longer they stayed together, the more Dennis felt like he was suffocating. Maureen was nice, sweet, even, and Dee had assured him many times that she was one of the prettiest girls at their school, but something about the way she looked at him made Dennis sick to his stomach. 

“Dennis?” Mac gave him a nudge, distracting him from his thoughts, “you’re not drunk already, are you?”

“I’m fine,” Dennis said.

The thin smile on Mac’s lips was unreadable, “good, because if you throw up on me again, man-”

“Jesus Christ, Mac, that was  _ months  _ ago! Can you please drop it, already?”

“It was so gross, bro, I had to throw the whole shirt away and the smell, it was like-”

Dennis shoved Mac a little too hard, forgetting that the trampoline had a tendency to tip over. Next thing he knew, they were both lying on the wet grass, beer pooling stickily around them. Mac cried out and pushed Dennis aside, jumping up and hopping around and swearing at the top of his lungs. Dennis couldn’t help but laugh.

“Fuck you, man! Give me back my jacket; I’m soaking wet, I’m gonna get goddamn pneumonia or some shit!”

Dennis flipped Mac off and rested his head against the wet cold grass, his laughter dying in his throat as a sense of sadness settled heavily on him again. He was going to miss this. They only had a few weeks of high school left, and then it would only be a matter of months before he went off to study at Penn State and Mac would stay behind to, well, probably continue to deal drugs.

Not sensing Dennis’ change in mood, Mac knelt down beside him and roughly pulled at his jacket, trying to get it out from under Dennis without touching him; Dennis scowled and sat up suddenly, letting Mac fall backwards.

“You’re an asshole.” Mac muttered, slipping back into the jacket and wrapping it securely around himself as he shivered, “and I’m totally gonna get sick.”

Dennis uprooted a fistfull of grass and shredded it between his fingers. He could hear shouting coming from inside the house and wondered absently who was fighting who; he hoped that Dee wasn’t involved, neither of them needed to be mixed up in anything messy tonight.

Somewhere off in the distance a siren rang out, shattering the calm of the quiet night. Dennis looked over at Mac, who was suddenly alert; this wouldn’t be the first time the police had busted one of Dooley’s parties.

Mac placed a protective hand on Dennis’ arm, “maybe we should-”

“Yeah, c’mon.”

 

The party was in full swing inside the house; the music that had been pleasantly drifting across the garden only moments earlier was now oppressive, pressing against Dennis’ eardrums and threatening to burst them.

He saw Charlie passed out on the couch in the corner of the room, covered by some kind party-goers' coat - Dennis frowned slightly, worried. Charlie could look after himself, but the prospect of leaving him alone just didn’t sit right. He looked up at Mac, whose eyes were trained on Dee; she was standing by the keg, looking queasy. A vaguely familiar girl was talking to her, leaning in close and laughing. 

“What should we do about Charlie?” He shouted in Mac’s ear, gesturing towards him, “he looks like he might die.”

“Oh, Charlie? Nah, he’s fine,” Mac put a hand on Dennis’ shoulder and pulled him out of the way as Pete drunkenly lurched past, “he huffed a ton of glue earlier, he’ll sleep fine until the morning. He barely had anything to drink so the cops will probably leave him alone if they find him.”

“Alright,” Dennis’ shoulder was buzzing where Mac’s hand had been, and he could feel his stomach turning slightly. He made a mental note to ease off teasing Dee about her gag reflex - he understood it now.

“C’mon, man,” Mac said, craning his neck nervously to look out the window, “let’s get out of here before the cops arrive.”

 

Once they were well down the street from Dooley’s house, Dennis paused to light another cigarette. He watched as the smoke curled up into the air, wafting into Mac’s face and making him wrinkle his nose.

“Gimmie one, bro.”

“Get your own, Mac.”

Mac pouted, stopping in his tracks, “dude, I give you free weed all the time!”

“So?”

“So, you should give me a goddamn cigarette,” Mac snatched at the packet in Dennis’ hand but Dennis was faster than him. He jumped out of the way and flashed a smile before taking out a cigarette and passing it to him.

“Just this once, though.”

The smile on Mac’s face made his heart ache. He couldn’t stand that this time in six months they would be hours away from each other - and, of course, there would be no reason for him to come back home and visit, he’d sworn to never set foot in his parents’ house again after he moved out.

So, maybe Mac deserved that cigarette. Maybe it would be the last cigarette Dennis ever gave him. Maybe this would be the last party they went to together, and the last time they walked home in the dark like this. 

“Only three more weeks.” Dennis said, turning away from Mac, “and everything’s gonna change.”

Mac reached into Dennis’ pocket and took out his lighter, clicking it and grinning as the flame lit up his face, “I don’t know about that, man.” 

“No?”

Mac sighed, “I mean, we still have the entire summer, and once you go away - to Penn, I mean, we’re still gonna be bros, right?”

“Right. Sure.”

“I mean it, man, I’m gonna come and visit you like once a month,” Mac blurted out, slurring his words a little more than he had been before. Dennis smiled, he knew this game. Pretend you’re drunk and you can say whatever you want, then pretend it never happened when the morning rolls around.

But Dennis didn’t come to this party for faux-drunken flirting and empty promises - Dooley’s party was his finale. There would be plenty of parties in college, sure, but as of now the freight train had officially disbanded, soon to be taken off the rails and sold for scrap.

“Dennis?” Mac’s voice was a little quieter now, and Dennis was suddenly aware of how empty the street was. They’d gotten far enough away from Dooley’s place that he could only just hear the distant strains of music drifting towards them; nobody else was out that late, not on this street, not in this city.

“Don’t say things you don’t mean, Mac.”

Mac made an indignant noise, “dude, I do mean it! I’m gonna visit as often as you want. I promise.”

“You promise?”

“Yeah, uh, here,” Mac pulled out his pocket knife and flicked it open; he drew it very lightly across his palm, wincing as tiny beads of blood appeared against the blade.

Dennis snatched the knife away from him, “Jesus, Mac! What the hell?”

“I’m making a blood pact, bro! Here, shake my hand.”

Dennis rolled his eyes and sliced at his own palm before pressing it against Mac’s. His hand was warm and a little clammy, and Dennis was sure he could feel him shaking.

“We’re blood brothers now, bro.”

Pulling away, Dennis laughed and wiped his hand on his jeans, “bullshit.” He paused, “but this means you have to come and visit me at Penn, right?”

“Of course, man. Blood brothers are bros for life, no matter what.”

A smile smile curved at the corners of Mac’s mouth, and Dennis noticed that his cheeks were a little more flushed than they had been a few minutes ago. Though he hadn’t had a huge amount to drink, Dennis could still smell the scent of beer that seemed to cling to him, alongside the cloying smell of old weed. As disgusting as the smell was, Dennis couldn’t help but feel comforted by the familiarity of it.

 

They continued their walk in silence until they reached Dennis’ house. When they got to the front gate, Dennis pressed a finger to his lips and took Mac’s hand, guiding him though the most shadowed areas of the yard. This was how he always snuck people into his bedroom late at night - he’d rehearsed this moment a million times in the past few months with Maureen. This felt like another one of those nights. If he squinted, he could almost see Maureen’s face in Mac’s; just the edges of her eyes and the corners of her lips.

“You staying tonight?” He asked once they reached the front door, his heart stopping for a moment as he remembered the last time he’d asked Maureen the same question. 

Mac hesitated before looking over his shoulder and saying, “my mum-”

“-won’t give a shit,” Dennis finished, smiling gently, “and who would I be if I let my blood brother walk home alone in the dark? This is Philly, Mac, who knows what dangers are lurking out there.”

“Okay.”

Mac grinned at Dennis, and Dennis grinned back. The fear deep inside of him, the fear of change, hadn’t quite gone away. But there was a comfort in familiarity. He knew exactly how loud Mac’s footsteps would be, he knew that he’d insist on watching a movie and fall asleep halfway through, even though he promised he wouldn’t. And he knew that they’d wake up the next morning, groggy and reeking but still smiling. Because this was how it always happened. They were blood brothers, and it was all going to be okay.


	2. if you're gonna take this heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Mac frowned, “okay, you’re right. We’re drunk and - I would never kiss you for real, bro.”_  
>  “Right,” Dennis said, his lips still tingling.  
> “Because you know I’m not queer or anything, so-”  
> “Yeah, I get it.” Dennis snapped. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay i'm switching up the formatting and just posting single song chapters bc it's easier, sorry if there's any confusion lol  
> [trigger warnings: allusions to disordered eating, (internalised) homophobia]  
> this chapter's song is happy!

Dennis was on his way back from a lecture, kicking his way through the brown and orange leaves as he made his way across campus. The sun was shining weakly through the clouds, threatening to warm the damp ground below.

 

His first semester was shaping up to be a disaster; he hated everyone in his lectures, they were all idiots, and his roommate was no better. The only person he had to talk to was Dee, and she’d been blowing him off to hang out with her new friends in the past few weeks. People barely acknowledged his presence anymore, it was as though he was fading away.

He stopped walking for a moment and looked up at the sky; he was tempted to just walk away and never come back, if he just kept moving in one direction, then maybe he’d find somewhere where he felt right.

Someone crashed into his back, almost knocking him over. He span around, just about ready to commit murder, when he was greeted with a familiar face.

“Mac?”

Mac was gripping onto Dennis in a half-hug, practically bouncing with excitement, “hey, Den!”

“What-” Dennis shook Mac off, “-what are you doing here?”

“Dude! Dee told me where to find you - I called her up last week and told her to keep it a secret, I wanted to surprise you.”

There was something about the way he was bouncing around that made Dennis want to cry, it had been weeks since someone had looked glad to see him, and even longer since someone had smiled at him with genuine joy. He wanted to wrap his arms around Mac and never let him go, but all he could say was, “it’s cold today, huh?”

 

Dennis took them both back to his dorm. As sweet as Mac’s surprise was, he wished he’d been given a little warning - his room was a mess. His roommate had turned out to be a complete slob, and no matter how much cleaning Dennis did, there always seemed to be more work to do; these past few weeks had become a blur of cooking and cleaning and laundry, and he’d just about given up.

“You’re so lucky, man.” Mac said, collapsing on Dennis’ bed and spreading his arms out in barely-contained bliss, “I love my mum, but I wanna have my own place, y’know? It all seems so grown up.”

Dennis smiled, “yeah, I know what you mean.”

He sat down on the bed next to Mac and put his hands in his lap, realising suddenly that his stomach was twisting into knots. He couldn’t believe it had only been a few weeks since they’d seen each other last - it felt as though there was an eternity between them.

They hadn’t had a proper formal goodbye, neither of them had wanted to make a big deal out of it, but there had been something special about the last night they saw each other - a certain tenderness in the way they passed a joint between them, and an indescribable softness in the way Mac smiled at Dennis as he ranted on about some idiot who’d cut him off in traffic.

Mac propped himself up on one elbow and looked searchingly at Dennis, “dude, I hope you don’t mind me saying this-”

“-actually, I probably do-”

“-but you look like shit.”

Dennis scowled. “Thanks.”

“No, man,” Mac said hurriedly, “I mean, you’re like all pale and thin and shit - have you been eating properly?” 

“I-” Dennis paused and frowned. Without Dee breathing down his neck every hour of the day, he’d been able to get a little stricter about his diet. A small bubble of pride surged in his chest - if Mac had noticed that he’d lost weight, he must be doing something right. But Mac looked worried, he’d shuffled closer and was studying Dennis carefully, his nose only inches away from his cheek. Mac had always made a fuss about Dennis’ eating habits, he was almost as bad as Dee - he’d always brought extra snacks into school for them to eat under the bleachers during lunch. If he’d allowed himself to dwell on it as more than a passing thought, he might have found it sweet, endearing, even.

“Don’t worry so much,” he said, pulling away from Mac, “I’m fine.”

“Good.” Mac’s tone was guarded, “because I don’t want you whiting out tonight.”

“Whiting out?”

Mac fumbled around in his jacket for a moment before producing a small bag of weed, “boom.”

 

Two hours later and they were curled up together in the back seat of Dennis’ car; Mac was taking a hit off his badly-rolled joint while Dennis clutched a warm thermos of tea between his cold fingers. They were completely separated from the rest of the world, the steamed-up windows blocking the empty parking lot outside from their view.

Mac smiled at Dennis and passed him the joint, unwrapping a packet of cookies and popping one into his mouth; he dropped the packet on the floor, spraying crumbs everywhere. Dennis made a small noise of protest, but he was too high to really give a shit, high from the weed and high from the warmth of Mac’s body pressed familiarly against his.

“Dude,” Mac said, his voice unnaturally loud in the silence of the car, “you’ll never believe what I caught Charlie doing the other day.”

“What?”

“He was drinking paint. Paint, man! I swear, the kid’s a danger to himself.”

Dennis snorted, “I guess it’s more effective than huffing.”

Mac laughed and grabbed at Dennis’ flask of tea, stealing a sip; Dennis watched lazily as he licked his lips, allowing himself to smile. Mac must’ve felt his gaze, because he turned and allowed their eyes to meet; Dennis looked away, his cheeks flushing.

“What?”

Dennis looked down, “what?”

“You were, like, staring and smiling and shit.”

Mac’s eyes were trained firmly on his hands, and Dennis laughed gently.

“I just missed this.”

“This?”

“You.”

Their eyes met. “Oh.”

 

Not knowing what to do with himself, Dennis took another hit off the joint and passed it back to Mac, willing their hands not to brush. He cleared his throat, trying to push himself up in his seat, forgetting momentarily how high he was. 

He turned to Mac, “honestly, man, I’d do anything to be able to do this every day. Like, if you could stick around, things might be alright.”

Mac’s eyes widened but he didn’t say anything. Instead, he took another hit off the joint, not taking his eyes off Dennis. Dennis watched as the smoke poured from between his lips and filled the car with its sickly sweet smell.

“I wish I could stay the night,” Mac said eventually, “but my mum-”

“Yeah, I know.”

 

Dennis drove Mac to the train station. This was the part he’d been dreading, the part he’d been trying to confine to the corner of his mind ever since he first laid eyes on Mac that afternoon. They were never good at this, saying goodbye.

“When can you visit next?” He asked quietly, fiddling with the rearview mirror.

Mac was quiet for a moment, “train tickets are expensive, bro, but-”

“I’ll pay.”

There was another silence, longer this time, interrupted only by the gentle sound of rain hitting the roof of the car. Dennis looked blankly out of the window at the train station, watching as people milled around; families, students and businesspeople in gray suits all went about their day, unaware of the eyes watching them. He wondered if people ever watched him and Mac when they were together. He wondered what they thought.

The rain beat harder on the roof and Dennis sighed, “can you do next week?”

“Next week?” Mac didn’t even try to hide the surprise in his voice, “uh, yeah, I think so.”

“For the night.”

A train pulled into the station and Mac’s head snapped towards it. For a second, Dennis wasn’t sure he was going to reply - he thought he’d blown it, and that Mac was going to leave and never come back. But he turned back to Dennis with a nervous smile on his face and said, “sure.”

 

And so, Mac’s visits became a routine. He’d stay for a day, a night, even a week if things were particularly bad at home; sometimes he’d bring Charlie, and one time he smuggled in Poppins, insisting that he needed medication that his mum would forget to feed him. Dennis didn’t mind, he never minded. As long as Mac was there, he was okay.

One night, they were lying on Dennis’ bed, having managed to kick out his roommate for what seemed like the millionth time. They were drinking beer and Mac was telling some stupid story about a run-in he and Charlie had had with a gang back in Philly. Dennis hadn’t heard a single word he’d said.

“So  _ then,”  _ Mac was saying, “Charlie picked up the rock and threw it right at the guy’s head. Dude was so pissed, I thought he was gonna explode!”

“Mhm.” Dennis said, his eyes trained on a stray eyelash resting on Mac’s cheek. He hadn’t been able to concentrate recently, his brain had started fogging over with a white mist whenever he tried to focus on anything for more than a few minutes. He blinked slowly, vaguely aware that Mac was frowning.

“Are you even listening, bro?”

Dennis rolled onto his side, curling in towards Mac and flashing him a small smile, “no.”

“Dick,” Mac gave him a small shove, “I was in the middle of a story.”

“I know, but I’m on my fifth beer, man. You’re gonna have to make it a hell of a lot more interesting if you want my full attention.”

“Fine." Mac said, "So, this guy comes over and grabs me like this,” there was a glint in Mac’s eye, and, before Dennis knew what was happening, he was being pulled forward by the front of his shirt, “and then guess what he fucking said?”

Dennis swallowed, very aware of how close he and Mac were. Their faces were only inches away from each other, and Mac’s body was pressed right up against his; he could feel his chest rising and falling quickly, and he could count the faint acne scars that littered his temples like tiny constellations. “What did he say?” He whispered, barely daring to breathe.

“He said,” Mac leaned in even closer, so close that his hot breath grazed Dennis’ cheek, “if you weren’t Luther’s son, I’d be planning your funeral right now.”

“Shit,” Dennis said, barely hearing the words Mac was saying. He hardly knew that he was talking at all, all he could think about was the inch of space between them.

 

They’d only kissed once before, back when they were in high school. It had been an accident, a drunken moment in Dennis’ bed late at night, when they’d both gotten too high and had too much to drink. Mac’s lips had been soft and much warmer than the lips of any girls Dennis had ever kissed - but he always tried not to think about that. God knows what would happen if he started to compare his one kiss with Mac to the dozen or so kisses he’d had with various girls throughout the years.

There was something similar in the air tonight. Maybe it was the deliberate Mac was pressed against Dennis’ body, or maybe it was the way they were both holding their breath. Mac had finished his story and loosened his grip on Dennis shirt - he was frozen, stuck looking at Dennis’ face with an expression so open that it almost made Dennis weep.

“Den-” he said, his voice wavering slightly.

And then Dennis was kissing him. He pressed his lips against Mac’s, gently, waiting for him to kiss back; Mac pulled him closer almost immediately, sinking into the kiss as though he’d been waiting for it all evening.

Dennis couldn’t help but run a hand through Mac’s hair, feeling him tremble slightly against him as he did. With one hand in his hair, Dennis slipped his arm around Mac and placed it firmly on his back, running his thumb gently across the harsh fabric of Mac’s sweater. He pulled back for a second, looking at Mac’s flushed face.

“Okay, baby?” He asked, the pet name he’d forced himself to use for so many girls in the past slipping off his tongue without permission.

Mac closed his eyes as though he had a headache, and Dennis felt the muscles in his back tense beneath his hand; he tried to run a hand through his hair again, but Mac pulled away, shaking his head.

“Dude, no.” His voice was high and a little too loud. He looked over his shoulder, as though he expected to find someone watching him.

Dennis sat up and held out his hands, “Mac, c’mon, it’s alright. Nobody else is here, nothing bad's gonna happen.”

“But, dude, it’s like…” Mac couldn’t quite say the word gay out loud, but he mouthed it carefully, as though the mere sound of it was enough to send him straight to hell.

“Mac.” Dennis shuffled off the bed and reached out, his hands hovering just above Mac’s arms. He was still shaking a little, and, if Dennis didn’t know better, he would have said there were tears forming in his eyes. “We should go to bed - go to sleep, I mean. It’s late, we’re drunk, it was nothing serious.” He’d lowered his voice and was talking as sweetly as he could, desperate for Mac not to freak out on him.

Mac frowned, “okay, you’re right. We’re drunk and - I would never kiss you for real, bro.”

“Right,” Dennis said, his lips still tingling.

“Because you know I’m not queer or anything, so-”

“Yeah, I get it.” Dennis snapped, the words cutting a little deeper than they should have. He flung himself back down on the bed and bundled up in his duvet, trying very hard not to let Mac see the expression on his face.

Mac climbed carefully into bed next to him, making sure they didn’t touch and whispering a soft “goodnight, bro,” before turning off the lamp next to Dennis’ bed and closing his eyes.

 

He was gone when Dennis woke up in the morning, leaving only a note on his bedside table, talking about the early train and how his mum was expecting him back. Of course. This was how it always went.

Dennis sat on the edge of his bed, his eyes taking in the room around him - Mac had left all of his beer bottled behind and, considerately, a couple of unsmoked joints. Someone more sentimental and less hungover than Dennis might have found significance in this, the mementos of a night gone wrong, but Dennis just rubbed his eyes and grabbed a bin bag from underneath his bed before getting rid of any evidence that Mac had ever slept over at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> remember u can find me @ macdenniskiss on tumblr and twitter <3


	3. please don't say you love me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“I like this,” Mac said, nearly whispering._  
>  Dennis smiled, “thank you, my music taste is impeccable, after all-”  
> “No,” Mac stiffened slightly, his arms tensing against Dennis’ back, “I mean I like this. This is nice.”  
> “Mmhm.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> will i take any chance i can to write mac and den dancing? yes. will there be painful callbacks to this when we get to two slow dancers? also yes  
> [trigger warnings: mild referenced to disordered eating, references to abusive parents]  
> this chapter's song is first love / late spring!

It was four in the morning and they’d only just managed to start closing up for the night. Dennis slumped against the bar, his head resting in his arms; he’d had too much to drink too early in the night and was on the verge of passing out. Mac was sweeping up a small pile of broken glass in the corner, humming absently under his breath.

“You should leave that for Charlie, dude,” Dennis said, “it’s his job after all.”

Mac stopped sweeping for a moment, “Charlie went home an hour ago, Dennis. The crowds were stressing him out.”

“Ugh.” Dennis grunted, lifting his head to frown at Mac for a moment. They’d only owned the bar for a month, and he already felt way in over his head. The long nights, the rough patrons and the slow income were all things he, Mac and Charlie had forgotten to consider when they applied to buy the place.

Mac leant on his broom and opened his mouth as though he was about to say something, when Dee crashed into the bar from the back office, her nose buried deep in the bar’s book of finances.

“Dennis,” she said, “this looks bad, really bad - do you know how much money you guys have lost since you started working here?”

Of course Dee had taken the time to look nose around in their books. Dennis scoffed, “uh, yeah, Dee, of course we know. Businesses never make money in their first year, we just need to wait around until we start making a profit.”

“First year? Dennis, by this rate you’re gonna be bankrupt in a month’s time!” Dee thrust the book into Dennis face, “this isn’t college, idiot! You can’t just go and cry to mum and dad if you fuck up. Once this place goes under it’s over.”

“Jesus, Dee.” Mac frowned, laughing in disbelief, “lighten up a little. I’m sure Mrs Reynolds will give us a little help if we need it, right, Den?”

Dennis looked down at the book. Dee was right, they  _ were _ losing a lot of money - they hadn’t made enough this month to cover even half the cost of the mortgage. And, of course, his parents had been totally against him buying the bar, they’d never approved of Mac and Charlie, and had always envisioned him doing better things with his life. There was no way they’d help him out, no matter how hard he begged. Still, he smiled at Mac, determined to seem in control in front of Dee.

“Right,” he said, “but we’re not gonna need any help, because we know exactly what we’re doing.”

Dee looked at him searchingly, but ended up sighing and snatching the book away from him, “well, I don’t give a shit, I’m fine as long as you two boners pay me,” she said, “now, I’m gonna go home and pass out for a few hours.”

She patted Dennis on the arm and gave him a condescending smile, the kind of smile that let him know she saw right through his calm exterior, before walking unhurried out of the front door.

 

Mac laughed again, continuing to sweep up the glass. Dennis noticed that he wasn’t actually cleaning it up, just spreading the mess and pushing it further into the soft floorboards; on any other night he would have blown up at him and shown him how to do it properly, but tonight he was defeated.

“Mac,” he said, his voice small, “what if she’s right?”

“What do you mean, man? We’re gonna be fine, just like you said.”

“No, I-” he waved his hands around, searching for the right words, “what if we jumped into this? What if we’re too young to be running a bar. When we started this whole scheme, I thought it would be the thing that finally made me feel like an adult but now - now I think I was wrong.” He hoped that Mac couldn’t hear the tightness in his throat.

Mac looked at him, surprised. He leant the broom against the pool table and stepped over the glass towards Dennis, rubbing a comforting hand across his shoulder, “dude, we’re an Irish bar in South Philly, we’re gonna be okay.”

A small laugh escaped Dennis’ lips, “what does that even mean, man?”

Mac didn’t say anything, but he smiled at Dennis, glad to get a laugh out of him. After a few moments, he seemed to realise his hand was still on Dennis shoulder; he loosened his grip slightly, but didn’t pull away.

Pretending not to notice, Dennis looked around the bar, “are we done for the night, then?”

“Uh, yeah!” Mac followed Dennis’ gaze, shifting slightly to obscure the broken glass from his view, “there’s some mess left but you’re right, Charlie can take care of it tomorrow.”

Dennis stood up and let Mac’s hand slide from his shoulder; he gave the bar one last glance, before his eyes fell on an unfamiliar shape in the corner. “Mac, what’s that?”

“That?” Mac pointed at the shape, “that’s a jukebox, dude. I found it in the trash.”

“In the trash? Mac, we can’t just leave trash jukeboxes lying around, it could be full of rats for all you know.”

“Rats- no, dude-” Mac ran over to the jukebox and looked back at Dennis expectantly. Dennis rolled his eyes and followed him, his feet dragging heavily across the floor.

 

Once Dennis was close enough to see clearly, Mac bent down and plugged the jukebox in, smiling as it lit up; Dennis hated to admit it, but it was kinda cool. He inched closer, squinting at the faded list of songs printed at the top, wondering if they had anything worth listening to. Mac straightened up and stood next to him, looking smug.

“I bet we can make a shitload of money from this, man,” he said, “people love being able to dance to their favourite cheesy old songs.”

“Sure,” Dennis was still looking at the machine, completely giving up on seeming disinterested, “do you have a quarter?”

“A what?”

“A quarter, dude! We need to know if this thing really works.”

Mac practically beamed at him, “I’ll get one from the till.” He said, running off to the other side of the bar. Dennis stepped even closer towards the machine, flipping through the song catalogue and trying to decide on something to play.

 

“Find anything good?” Mac asked, returning with a quarter clutched tightly in his hands. Dennis nodded and took the coin from him, slipping it into the machine and holding his breath as he waited for the music to start, certain that there would be some fault with the speakers. But the music played perfectly, the sound of an old 70s love ballad drifting out, as easily as it would have from the radio back at their apartment.

“Holy shit, it works,” Mac said, leaning forward and squinting at the machine, “I knew it was a good find, but who throws away a perfectly good jukebox?”

“I have no idea,” Dennis said, smiling. He couldn’t help but sway to the beat slightly, caught up in the excitement of the moment.

Mac’s eyes lit up and he clumsily mirrored Dennis’ movement, his grin fading into a more casual smile. 

Dennis turned towards him and put his arms gently around his shoulders, pulling him closer; he felt his hands brush the nape of Mac’s neck, and tried not to look him directly in the eye, fixing his gaze just over his right shoulder as he continued to sway to the beat of the song. He was vaguely aware of Mac’s hands resting on his back, his touch was light with uncertainty, and Dennis tried to give him an encouraging smile, stepping in closer so that their chests were almost touching. If he tilted his head slightly, he was sure he’d be able to rest his cheek against Mac’s.

“I like this,” Mac said, nearly whispering.

Dennis smiled, “thank you, my music taste is impeccable, after all-”

“No,” Mac stiffened slightly, his arms tensing against Dennis’ back, “I mean I like  _ this _ . This is nice.”

“Mmhm.”

Mac closed his mouth and they continued to sway together in silence until the end of the song. It wasn’t quite dancing, not in the traditional sense of the term; Dennis was too tired to move his feet, and Mac seemed too tense to do anything more than allow Dennis to sway their bodies from side to side. Still, he was right, it was nice. It was nice to be near to Mac again - they’d barely had a moment alone together since buying the bar, and Mac would never be this close to him with people watching.

 

The song ended and they stopped swaying. Dennis closed his eyes, suddenly feeling seasick - he hated to admit it, but he was well aware of the tightrope he and Mac were walking on and, right now, he could feel himself losing balance. It would only take one sentence, or one swift movement, for him to fall. He secured his arms more tightly around Mac’s neck, trying to ground himself.

Mac took his hand off his back and frowned, “you okay, man?”

Dennis nodded, “yeah, yeah, just tired.”

“It’s late.” Mac said. He pulled away from Dennis, shoving his hands into his pockets, “and you skipped dinner again.”

“No I didn’t! I would never- I-”

“You ate three mouthfuls then told me you’re rather eat shit than my cooking,” Mac said, “which means you need to get some breakfast.”

Dennis stomach knotted slightly, but he forced himself to laugh, “I really said that, huh?”

“Yeah, bro. Now, c’mon, I wanna go home and sleep.” Mac was whining now, in that way Dennis would only half admit to himself was cute, “and I can’t have you passing out on me again.”

“Stop bringing that up, man, that was one time-”

“-and one of the worst moments of my life, dude.” Mac said, his face suddenly serious, “I thought you were gonna die.”

“I’m sure you and Charlie would have managed fine without me,” Dennis forced another laugh, “maybe Dee could have learned to mix drinks.”

“What? Den, I wasn’t worried about the bar, fuck the bar! I just don’t wanna lose another person I love, that’s all.”

“Love?”

 

It was as though all the air had been sucked from the bar. Mac immediately knew he’d said something wrong, and clasped his hands together, his eyes searching Dennis’ face; Dennis waited for him to backtrack, to mumble something about Dennis being like a brother to him, about how he hadn’t meant to say love, that Dennis was nothing more than a friend, a roommate, a drinking buddy. But his mouth stayed firmly shut.

“Well,” Dennis said, his voice suddenly very quiet, “I guess we should go get that breakfast, then.”

Suddenly, he didn’t want to go anywhere. Suddenly, he was wide awake and wanted to drink himself to sedation, he wanted to scream at the top of his lungs and break a bottle over Mac’s head for being so stupid. He knew Mac had a crush on him, he'd always known that, but love had always been out of the question.

Dennis cast his mind back to fifth grade, when he’d come home from school and announced proudly that he’d gotten his first girlfriend (who was little more than a girl who had passed him a “do you like me Y/N?” note during second period maths.) His dad had put a hand on his shoulder and said, “kid, you’re better off without her. Anyone capable of developing a crush on you is obviously a sucker. You don’t wanna be dating a sucker now, do you?”

He’d said a word worse than sucker and his hand hadn’t rested on Dennis’ shoulder so much as it had collided with his face. Dennis pushed the memory away and turned away from Mac.

 

“Dennis!” Mac’s hand grazed the edge of his arm, “wait, I meant-”

“Forget it.”

“No, dude, I know that sounded totally gay, but I meant…”

The silence that followed made the hairs on Dennis’ neck stand on end, “bro, it doesn’t matter. I know what you meant.” He didn’t, how could he?”

“Like, obviously I’m not  _ in  _ love with you,” Mac made a face, “gross, dude.”

“I know that!”

“Then why did you get all weird?”

Dennis sighed, “I don’t know, man, I just didn’t think you cared so much.”

“Cared?” Mac took a cautious step towards Dennis, “dude, you’re my best bro! Of course I care about you - I care about Charlie, too. If anything happened to either of you I’d lose my shit.”

 

Dennis felt himself relax slightly. So he wasn’t the only one. Maybe Mac just felt more than the average person, maybe Mac was one of those people that somehow found it in his heart to love anyone and everyone who crossed his path. Maybe Mac was better than Dennis; weaker, sure, but better.

“So, are we good?” Mac asked.

There was a split second where Dennis didn’t know what to say, but he covered it with a forced smile, “of course, man.”

Mac’s eyes lit up and he returned Dennis’ smile. He carried on grinning as he turned around and turned the jukebox off at the plug.

“So, where do you wanna eat?” Dennis asked, cautiously.

“Anywhere you want, buddy.”

And, just like that, all conflict was forgotten.

 


	4. so while you sleep, i'll be scared

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“I want-” Mac said, and Dennis knew what Mac wanted. He wanted the exact same thing Dennis did, something he didn’t understand, some intangible more that he couldn’t quite grasp._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> promise i wrote this ober but im posting it drunk wahoo!!!! enjoy i cried thinking abt this concept <3 the world is a safer place for dennis when macs around
> 
> this week's song waaaas i will!

For the first time since the whole gay bar debacle, Paddy’s was busy. Dee swore it had something to do with her new business model, but Dennis knew a fluke when he saw one; this would be their last successful night for a while, and something about the way his palms were sweating told him he was going to be okay with that.

He’d positioned himself safely behind the bar, making drink after drink whilst the rest of the gang mingled with patrons; if he raised himself up on the tips of his toes, he could just about see Mac checking people’s licences by the door. Somehow, it made him even more anxious to see how calm Mac was - he seemed to be oblivious to the dangers that could be lurking right next to him.

A loud crash drew Dennis’ eyes away from the door, and he gripped onto the bar, rolling his eyes at the source of the noise.

“Hey, Charlie!” He called out into the crowd, “someone’s broken another glass over here.”

Charlie appeared out of nowhere, pushing his way through the throng of people. He was carrying too many bottles, and Dennis winced, picturing them dropping to the floor, one by one. 

“Again?” Charlie slammed the bottles down on the bar, “what’s wrong with these people?”

“They’re drunk, man,” Dennis said, frowning at what appeared to be the beginnings of a fight out by one of the booths. Two men, both much taller and much stronger than Dennis, were starting to raise their voices, “it comes with the territory.”

“I don’t know, man. I think we should start serving drinks in paper cups - it’ll save me a job!”

The argument near the booth was growing more serious, and Dennis was straining to see whether either of them had a knife - that was absolutely the last thing they needed tonight. If he looked closely he was sure he could see a flash of silver in the hand of the tallest man; tuning out Charlie’s rambling, he waved Dee over, interrupting her conversation with a patron.

 

“Dee,” he hissed once she was in earshot, “look at those guys over there.”

Dee turned around and scanned the bar, “which guys?”

“The big ripped ones, by the middle booth,” Dennis pointed surreptitiously until Dee’s eyes locked onto them, “can you get a closer look at them? Check out the one with dark hair for me, please, sis.”

A smirk appeared on Dee’s face, “why? You want his number?”

“Wha- no, Jesus Christ!” Dennis scowled, “I think he has a knife, is all!”

“A knife? That’s the last thing we need tonight!”

“I know - so that’s why I need you to go and check him out for me. Please?” Dennis said, eyeing the men nervously, “Mac’s busy being the bouncer, and Charlie has shit to clean up.”

Charlie tapped Dennis’ arm, “if Dee wants to clean up the glass, I could go and scout out the dudes-”

“No, no, goddamn it, I’ll go. I don’t wanna do Charlie work.” Dee glared at Charlie before pushing her way back into the crowd, elbowing people as she went.

 

A flash of movement by the door caught Dennis’ eye; Mac was waving at him, a smile plastered on his face. Dennis motioned for him to come over, but he pointed at the door apologetically, mouthing “maybe later,” and shrugging.

“Now!” Dennis mouthed back.

Mac rolled his eyes and pushed towards the bar, throwing somebody’s license behind him as he did.

 

Dee reached the bar before Mac, her eyes wild, “holy shit,” she said, “that’s a big knife!”

“It’s big? He has a big knife?” Dennis’ stomach lurched and the entire bar seemed to swim before him - this was it, this was what he’d been worried about since he’d bought this stupid bar. 

Dee was holding her hands out a couple of inches apart and saying something, the words falling rapidly from her lips. Dennis could barely hear her - his ears were ringing. 

Out by the booth, the argument was getting more heated. A ripple of fear was running through the bar, and a couple of people were already heading towards the door, shooting nervous looks at Dennis.

Dennis leaned forward and hissed at Dee, “Dee, this is absurd! Why would a man be carrying a knife in our bar - that’s- it’s just-”

“I don’t know! I don’t know!”

 

“Hey, guys!” Mac rapped his knuckles on the bar, picking up Dennis’ half-empty beer and taking a quick sip, “what’cha talking about?”

“There’s a guy in the bar with a huge knife!” Dee said, holding out her hands again.

The sick feeling in Dennis’ stomach grew stronger,  “shut up, Dee,” he snapped, “you’re not helping.”

Mac leaned in towards Dennis, “you want me to go and reprimand them, bro?”

“Repri- no! Absolutely not!” Dennis grabbed Mac’s arm and held him in place, worried he’d dart off and get himself killed, “don’t confront them!”

Mac’s face was only inches from Dennis’. His eyes were trained carefully on him, and he smiled easily, not pulling away; for a split second, Dennis felt calm pooling into his veins. Everything else went away, just for a moment; the men arguing, Dee glaring, Charlie sweeping up glass and grumbling loudly, none of it mattered in that moment.

Something small snagged at the back of Dennis’ mind, something with a name he couldn’t quite place. He ignored it, as he always did.

“Hey, boners,” Dee swatted at Mac’s shoulder, “there’s no use arguing over it - we need to get those two out of the bar, or else we’ll lose business.”

Mac pulled away from Dennis, his arm slipping from his loose grip, “as the bar’s bodyguard, it should be my job to-”

“Just go!” Dee said, pushing him.

Mac stumbled out into the bar, which was now half-empty, and looked nervously over his shoulder at Dennis. Dennis shrugged and mouthed a word of encouragement at him before glaring at Dee.

“It’s your fault if he gets stabbed.”

“Shut up, Dennis.”

 

It all happened far too quickly for Dennis to comprehend. One minute Mac was greeting one of the men, a cautious few feet of space between them, and the next minute he was on the floor, and everyone was yelling.

“Shit!” Dee said, placing a hand on Dennis’ shoulder, “you think he’s alright?”

The bar was already emptying out, and Dennis craned his neck, his heart pounding. Everything was a blur of colour and light and sound, like someone had put the entire scene through some sick kind of kaleidoscope. If he focused, really focused, he could just about make out Charlie rushing towards the scene of the incident. He was yelling.

Dee shook him, “Dennis? He’s okay, right?”

Dennis said nothing. His vision was clearing, and enough people had finally left for Dennis to be able to see Mac. He was sat on the floor, stunned, and Charlie was shaking him gently. He was bleeding.

“Jesus Christ,” Dennis muttered, dashing out from behind the bar. He pushed past any remaining patrons and skidded towards Mac, almost tripping over him.

Charlie was on the floor, pressing at Mac’s side, “dude, they stabbed his heart!”

“His-” Dennis paused, looking at where the blood was blooming on Mac’s shirt, just above his left hip, “Charlie, where do you think the heart is?”

“Hey, guys?” Mac lifted his head slightly, “Dee was right, the knife was, like, super big.”

 

* * *

  


Five hours later and Dennis was thrumming his fingers against his steering wheel, waiting to pull out of the hospital parking lot. The rest of the gang had already gone home, satisfied that Mac was okay after he punched a doctor with enough force to break their nose.

He was sleeping now; dozing in the passenger seat, off his head on some opioid a nurse had given him - Dennis had draped his jacket over his shoulders and he was curled up inside it, a faint smile playing on his lips - if he wasn’t so infuriated by the situation, Dennis might have found the whole scene endearing.

“You’re an idiot,” he mumbled as he pulled out, gripping the steering wheel tighter than was necessary, “you know that, right?”

Mac said nothing, but opened his eyes and looked at Dennis, still smiling a little; there was something inexplicably soft in his expression that Dennis couldn’t begin to understand. He looked away, fixing his eyes firmly on the road.

 

They made it home in record time, and Dennis took it upon himself to lug Mac up the stairs, supporting almost his full weight as Mac giggled and stumbled. The second they made it inside the apartment, he collapsed onto the couch, that idiotic smile still plastered on his face.

Dennis rolled his eyes.

“The doctor said you were supposed to take it easy, man. Don’t throw yourself around like that.”

Mac sat up and looked at Dennis, “s’okay, Den, I’m tough,” he said softly, his words a little slurred. It only then occurred to Dennis that he should have told the hospital staff about how much Mac had been drinking before letting them give him painkillers.

He sighed, “you won’t be so tough if your stitches come loose, buddy. Is that how you wanna die?”

Mac shook his head.

“Didn’t think so.”

There was a comfortable silence, broken only by the sound of rain beginning to tap against the window; Mac’s eyes were beginning to tighten and focus a little, and he rubbed at his side slightly.

“Dennis,” he said, “how are you gonna run the bar without me around for protection?”

Dennis resisted the urge to laugh, settling instead for a half-smile, “we can figure that out tomorrow. Right now, you’re taking an advil and getting some rest.”

There was a moment where Dennis thought Mac was going to argue with him, but his expression quickly cleared and he nodded. He was curled in on himself slightly, and his hand was now tightly clasped against his side.

“C’mon, now,” Dennis couldn’t help but let gentleness cloud his voice as he helped Mac to his feet; Mac sighed and leaned heavily against him. He smelled bad. Dennis leaned away and wrinkled his nose, “Jesus, man. You reek.”

Mac laughed, “yeah, I do.”

Careful not to jog Mac’s wound too much, Dennis snaked an arm around his waist. He was surprised by how well it fit - they slotted together perfectly, like two parentheses, separated by nothing but words. Dennis pushed these thoughts from his mind and focused on guiding Mac towards his bedroom.

 

Mac’s room smelt almost as bad as Mac himself, and Dennis frowned as he watched him flop down on the bed, wrapping himself up in his musty duvet almost immediately.

“Dude, would it kill you to crack a window sometime?”

“Doesn’t open.”

Dennis walked over to the window and jiggled the handle; Mac was right, it was stuck fast. “Has it always been like that?” He mumbled, mostly to himself. He was sure it must have opened at some point - all windows open. Someone must have broken it.

He turned around and saw Mac half asleep on the bed; he was still in his blood-stained shirt and dirty jeans, he hadn’t even taken his shoes off. Dennis rolled his eyes and sat down on the bed, prodding him gently.

“Hey, asshole,” he said, “are you planning on sleeping in your own filth, or do you want me to get you some clean clothes?”

“Filth.” Mac said, his voice muffled by the blankets.

Dennis poked Mac again, harder this time, “wrong answer.”

 

There was a pile of clothes in the corner of Mac’s room; Dennis rifled through them, trying to find something clean enough for Mac to wear. After a few moments of throwing aside pairs of dirty socks, he found himself holding an oddly familiar shirt - it was soft and faded with wear and Dennis realised, with a start, that it had once belonged to him. He’d thrown it away months ago, sick of the way it framed his body. Mac must’ve fished it out of the bin and kept it.

“Hey, Mac?” He asked, turning around. Mac was sat up on the edge of his bed now, watching Dennis intently. In the dim light of the room, he looked almost fragile, the dark circles bruising around his eyes making him look paler than he was. Dennis decided that tonight wasn’t the night for questions. “Is this shirt okay?”

Mac’s eyes widened slightly in recognition, “yeah,” he said.

“Great.” Dennis stood up, smoothing the soft fabric of the shirt between his fingers. He avoided looking at Mac, fixing his eyes instead on the crucifix that loomed over his bed; it must be new, he was sure that the wall had once been completely empty. He found his mind wandering back towards the broken window, before he stopped himself and tossed the shirt onto Mac’s bare mattress.

 

Mac stood up, wincing as he stretched his wound. Without thinking about the consequences, or of the crucifix watching over them, Dennis stepped forward to put a hand on Mac’s arm and said, “let me, man,” before carefully peeling the grimy shirt over Mac’s head.

The hospital had stitched Mac up pretty well. The cut was covered with a thick, white gauze, so clean and so soft to the touch that Dennis didn’t quite believe that Mac had been stabbed at all. It was as though the events of the night had been hidden beneath a thick white cloud, the only indication of ugliness being a hint of red seeping out at the side; just enough to show that he was hurt, but not enough to cause alarm. 

Mac coughed, and Dennis realised he’d been staring at his torso, one hand gentle brushing at his hip; he blinked quickly and grabbed the clean shirt, shoving it over Mac’s head with as much care as possible. It was a little frayed, especially around the sleeves, but ht looked good in it. Dennis took a step back and smiled at him. Mac smiled back.

“Uh, what do wanna do about those?” Dennis gestured towards Mac’s jeans, and Mac looked down, as though he’d forgotten he was wearing them.

He shrugged, “I’ll sleep in my boxers, man. It’s fine.”

“Are you sure?” Dennis said, a moment too late. Mac was already unbuttoning his trousers and wiggling out of them, struggling as they got caught around his ankles. He sat down on the bed and kicked them off before falling backwards onto the bed and closing his eyes.

He let out a loud, long sigh, “can I sleep now, Den? I’m tired.”

“Yeah, yeah, man. I’ll just go-” Dennis backed towards the door, looking anywhere but the bed.

 

Mac sat upright and looked at Dennis, “you’re leaving?”

Dennis’ hand was on the doorknob, “yeah, dude. What did you want me to do?”

The pause that followed seemed to last an eternity. What did Mac want? It wasn’t like they’d never shared a bed before, of course they had, but things had been different since they’d moved in together; there would be moments, almost every day, when their eyes would meet and they’d both become very aware of the fact they were completely alone together. Dennis had started to pick up women in bars recently, a kind of antidote to the incident with those two men a couple of months ago. Mac had followed his lead. There was something strange about lying in bed and hearing the faintest strains of each other through the walls, so distant and at the same time so familiar. Dennis never remembered the names of the women he slept with, but he was vividly aware of everyone Mac brought home. They stuck in his head, like the songs he and Charlie had made up together back in high school.

“I want-” Mac said, and Dennis knew what Mac wanted. He wanted the exact same thing Dennis did, something he didn’t understand, some intangible more that he couldn’t quite grasp.

Dennis crossed his arms, “if you want me to sleep here, you’re gonna have to wait while I figure out how to open your window, man. It reeks in here.”

“I want you-”  Dennis’ heart skipped a beat, “-to double lock the front door.” Mac’s voice was small, and he stuttered, as though speaking a language he was unfamiliar with.

“Why?”

“Uh, because I’m not gonna be able to protect you if a murderer decides to break in in the middle of the night, dude!”

Despite everything, Dennis found himself laughing, “and you think you could do that on a normal night?”

“Of course, man!” Mac said, “I always sleep with one eye open, you’re probably the safest person in all of Philly, as long as you’re living with me.”

The indignation on Mac’s face made Dennis laugh harder, but he tried to compose himself before Mac stood up and injured himself again by hitting him, “whatever you say, bro.”

Mac lay back down and turned his back on Dennis, “just check the fucking locks before you go to bed.”

“Goodnight, Mac.”

 

Dennis escaped Mac’s room and closed the door behind him, shaking his head and smiling to himself; Mac was delusional, of course he was. It felt a little cruel to let him carry on believing he was the one that kept Paddy’s safe, but Dennis was sure he’d quit out of anger if he found out he was technically more of a barhand than anything else.

Still, he double checked the locks - it was probably wise to anyway, knowing some of the people he’d seen hanging around their building recently. It was a much rougher place than Dennis was used to, having gone from his childhood mansion, to his dorm room, to… here. He’d spent the first few nights convinced the roof was going to collapse in on them, or that a crackhead was going to mug him on the stairs.

Mac was snoring now, just loud enough for Dennis to hear him through the wall - the familiarity of it made his eyelids heavy. On a normal night, he’d have been in bed hours ago. He turned towards his bedroom before pausing, nervous. The events of the evening played back through his mind: the tall men, Mac walking up to them, Mac bleeding out on the floor - the entire thing sent a shiver down his spine. Suddenly, he imagined what would have happened had Mac not been there; he saw the men fighting, people getting in the way, the police being called, himself getting involved, Dee or Charlie getting hurt. The possibilities were endless. Maybe, and this was something he hated to admit, maybe Mac was right.

He checked the locks on the door, for the third time, before grabbing a knife from the kitchen and making his way to the bedroom. He didn’t sleep well that night. And, when Mac asked about the dark circles under his eyes the next morning, he just smiled and shook his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank u for reading im iasipgay on twitter and macdenniskiss on tumblr <3 more to come soon <3

**Author's Note:**

> if u wanna talk abt the fic or sunny in general, remember u can find me at macdenniskiss on twitter and tumblr!


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